


Flaws and All

by KrazyKeke



Category: Black Panther (2018), Marvel Cinematic Universe, X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Assistant!Reader, BAMF Dora Milaje, BAMF Women, Black Character(s), Black Reader, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Fights, Hate Crimes, Murder, Mutants, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Not Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Compliant, Not Canon Compliant, Original Character(s), Past Relationship(s), Reader-Insert, Unrequited Love, Wakanda (Marvel), Wakanda Deserved Better Fight Me, Wakandan Reader (Marvel), Women Being Awesome, X-Men Cameos, past Remy/Reader, past T'Challa/Nakia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-09-20 15:56:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 15,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17025654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KrazyKeke/pseuds/KrazyKeke
Summary: Love is not about how long I can wait for someone. It is how well I understand why I am waiting…





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing but this storyline. That's it. 
> 
> Request: I’D LIKE TO REQUEST SOMETHING (HEADCON, CHAPTER, ANYTHING) WHERE T’CHALLA DEMONSTRATES THE STRENF OF DE BLEQ PENTHA. IN OTHER WORDS, ROUGH T’CHALLA OR AMAZING STAMINA T’CHALLA. I SEE A LOT OF PEOPLE MAKE IT SEEM LIKE HE CAN’T BE DOMINATE AND ASSERTIVE. I BELIEVE HE CAN BE JUST AS FILTHY AS ERIK IF PUSHED TO A POINT. WE FORGET THAT THIS MAN HAS SUPER STAMINA, STRENGTH, SPEED, AGILITY AND ALL OF THE ABOVE. PLEASE REMIND US. LOVE UR BLOG ! I’M WAY TOO SCARY TO ASK OPENLY LMAO -- anonymous

Many years, your mother, Amina, had been the late King T’Chaka’s assistant.

She handled important documents, interviewed foreign representatives first, and all but made his schedule a hundred times more bearable so that he had enough time to be a family man, though in direct contrast, her own familial bond with you became strained as you felt she prioritized her job over everything, even you, and she insisted that she did not. 

This dispute had caused a wedge to grow between you two until you’d stop speaking to each other at all. With the former king’s demise, she’d been effectively retired and you were chosen as her replacement. If you’d been vindictive or petty enough, that should have been the moment you called her up to wave the new job in her face. 

“You were watching me.” There’s a rustle of paper, T’Challa turning to the next page in the pamphlet. 

“Eh?” Blinking, you paused. Titling the pot up, the steady stream of hot tea stopped, the cup is halfway filled. “Excuse me, kumkani?”

“In the gardens…” 

Opening your mouth, you’re about to try and defend yourself but he continued speaking.

“…Where the private spas are. That’s only for royals, Y/N.” Flicking his gaze at you, taking in your doubtlessly gaping expression. “And you do not even deny it. My, you are bold.” 

Feeling mortified beyond measure, you shake your head. “I..I did not, kumkani…I didn’t…” 

“Lying to me about such a serious matter could land you in hot water, Y/N.” There’s the scrtch-scrtch-scrtch sound of pen over paper. “Okoye will of course be disappointed I found the culprit myself…”

‘The  _General_ thinks I’m a voyeur?!’ Embarrassment wracked up to an eleven, you’re about to start groveling. “Kumkani, I  _swear_ to you it was not me! What is that I need to do to prove to you of my innocence?”

The pen stopped. T’Challa looked at you evenly. Without a word, and just when you thought today couldn’t get any worse, he reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a [pendant](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.dhresource.com%2F0x0s%2Ff2-albu-g5-M01-3B-BB-rBVaI1gueEyAZbB3AAU1TvebFBo251.jpg%2Fmini-africa-map-pendant-necklace-women-girl.jpg&t=ODczMTE0Yjg4ZGYxZDA3OTQ0NTY4MTdhYWU5YWIxMjg0MmMwODg1OSx1eUM5bG5Lcw%3D%3D&b=t%3APwauZoCL8-SYTxdcS3Xtdw&p=https%3A%2F%2Ftchalla-after-dark.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F176527828245%2Fid-like-to-request-something-headcon-chapter&m=1). 

Hand flying to your bare throat, your mouth went dry. Swallowing, your eyes slowly, reluctantly, met the king’s and he’s staring at you with a blank expression.

“It’s yours, isn’t it?” The question is rhetoric. “All day, I watched you reach for this trinket and your face cloud with worry.” You didn’t say anything and he nodded. “I found this on the ground right after finishing my bath.” Pausing, he waited for a confession but still not a word left your mouth. “Do you want it back?”

“For what price?”

T’Challa smiled, and you felt a shiver run down your spine. 

**Twenty minutes later**

The slapslapslap sound of skin on skin is loud and lewd in the quiet office. The two of you are seated in his chair with you on top, your panties discarded on the floor somewhere, blouse ripped, skirt torn. Hips snapping up sharply, his balls slapped against the back of your thighs as he plunged back into your wetness. T’Challa’s hand is covering your mouth, keeping you from making a sound except for muffled moans as you rode his dick. 

“You are so wet, intyatyambo yam encinci.” He hissed into your ear. “And tight, just like I knew you would be…” Ducking his head, he suckled strongly at your neck which are sure to leave marks, causing you to exhale sharply and push your ass back against him. “I’m going to keep you. You would like that, wouldn’t you, intombi entle? Spread out and ready for me everyday to taste, touch, and fuck?”

Another muffled moan and you nodded your head several times. 

“Good girl. Now, cum for me.” 

Even though you tried to hold off, something about his voice, in that dark, seductive tone had you cumming instantly, practically drenching his cock and his lap. Weakly, you leaned back against him and he kissed at the column of your throat, the bruise free areas, tongue tracing over the top of your breasts. “Kumkani…” You felt something cold around your neck. Looking down, you saw that he returned your pendant to it’s rightful place. You felt him twitch and he rocked his hips a little, he was still hard. “Kumkani, wa…” 

“Don’t be greedy.” He spanked your ass. “I want to cum too.” And then he lifted you up off his cock, turning you around to face him. You almost feel shy in this position, but can’t think on it further before T’Challa thrusted back into you, and your hands flew to his shoulders, nails digging into flesh.

~~Much much much later, Okoye found the true voyeur.~~

~~T’Challa didn’t tell you until two months after.~~


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Request: IN THE REQUEST WHERE READER WATCHES T'CHALLA IN THE SPA BATHS, HE MENTIONS KEEPING HER. I WAS WONDERING IF YOU COULD WRITE A HC OR PART 2 THAT DETAILS WHAT EXACTLY THAT ENTAILS 👀 THANK YOU! --wakanda-inspired

To the outside observer, you remain T’Challa’s assistant. 

He shows you know no more favor than any other individual under his employ and the two of y’all’s relationship is completely professional and always has been. 

“Stark would like for you to visit the United States and attend–” Placing the manila folder onto the desk, without even thinking twice, you swatted away the hand which had found itself on your ass. “He wants you to attend the Stark Expo. Your response, kumkani?”

“My answer is the same as it’s always been.” Undeterred by the swat, his hand travels to your hip and his hand rub up and down your leg absently while he wrote something with his free hand on another document. 

“So, a big fat resounding ‘No’?” You ask to clarify.

“Once he graduates beyond nano technology, perhaps I’ll arrange a sit down with him.” T’Challa sniffs. “Enough work.” He says soon after, hand drifting up higher on your thigh, thumb trailing over the edge of your panties. “Come here.”

“We haven’t even made a dent in…” You try to protest.

“Come here, intombi eswiti.” He says in a firmer tone, and as always, you can’t deny him. You go and stand between his parted legs, mouth parting to ask for further instructions but he pulls you into his lap. “ _This_ is where you belong.” T’Challa purrs in your ear, and you can feel yourself begin to get turned on. 

“If I sat in this position, no wo…” Again you try to interject sense into this conversation. It’s an exercise in futility though, as the king rocks forward a bit, his clothed erection pressed intimately against your sex and the friction is…alright, but it’s not enough. You rock back against him, his fingers are digging into your thighs. “K…kumkani, we…we mustn’t…” 

“Everyday you tease me, wam othandekayo, kicking up a fuss, saying ‘No, we can’t’,” There’s a riiiiiip! and the fabric of your panties is torn, and T’Challa cups your mound. “But you wear these skirts and blouses that you know I love…” He left wet kisses along your throat. “Such contradicting messages, it vexes me.” Using his thumb and index, he parted your wet folds, thumb dipping inside your pussy, pumping in then out, in then out, then he added another. 

“What is the truth?”

Helpless, a slave to your body’s responses, you began to thrust down on his fingers, hands squeezing his shoulders. “K-kumkani, I-I just…” 

“You just?” T’Challa adds another finger. “Just what? Use your words.” He coached. “Look at you, intliziyo yam, the way you’re gripping my fingers…” Order given, again, you’re helpless to do anything except to obey. You look down and you feel a thrill of heat shoot through you, getting even wetter. 

“Kumkani, please…” 

T’Challa clenches his jaw, nostrils flared. Slowly, he pulled his fingers free, despite your protests and lifted you slightly, unzipping his zipper and pulling his pants and boxers down; his cock stood at attention, hard and oozing precum, slightly pointed towards his belly. Mouth watering, you glance at him, and he shakes his head, a little regret in his expression. 

“You can suck me after, I want…I need to feel you right now…”

Nodding absently, you reach down, giving his cock a few strokes even though he didn’t need it, ignoring his hiss, and then guided him into your opening, slowly sinking down. Impatient, T’Challa gripped you by the hips harshly and thrusted the rest of the way in, causing you to let out a choked whisper. Holding you underneath the ass, he stood from his seat, sitting you on the desk and spreading your legs wide open as he fucked into you with short, brutal strokes. “Who else can do this for you, hmm?” He taunted, swiveling his hips just so, causing you to close your eyes but the slap on your ass had you opening them again. 

“Answer the question when I am talking to you, little girl. Who can make you feel this way, fuck you just the way you like? Who do you belong to?” 

Every question is accompanied by a hard swat to the ass, the stinging pain borderline too much, but your body disagreed as you were just getting wetter and wetter, practically making a mess of this desk while T’Challa steadily pounded into you. 

“Nobody else can do this to me! I belong to you, kumkani,  _please_ –” Voice raised to a shout, you almost bite your own tongue off as T’Challa’s finger danced over your clit and your orgasm comes rushing out of you. 

He lazily thrusted inside you, kissing at your open mouth. “See, sithandwa sam? I knew you could be taught. Even your body knows though your mind struggles to accept the truth…” Affection coats his tone, even as he ripped your blouse, doing the same thing to your bra. T’Challa roughly palmed at your left breast and then dipped his head, tongue tracing over the right breast. Letting go with a wet pop, only to blow cool air on the dusky nipple, watching as it stiffened. 

“Every part of you belongs to me. And I to you…” 

To the outside observer, you remain T’Challa’s assistant, he shows no favor to you. But the reality is far more…explicit. 


	3. FLASHBACK (Let's Take This Back to the Start~)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Request: I CAME UP WITH ANOTHER REQUEST! IN THE SECOND PART, T'CHALLA SAYS THINGS LIKE 'I KNEW YOU COULD BE TAUGHT' AND THAT JUST MADE ME IMAGINE THAT HE'S BEEN WORKING ON THIS WITH HER FOR AWHILE AND READER MAY FALL INTO THE 'BRAT' CATEGORY SO I WAS WONDERING IF YOU COULD DO A SNIPPET ON HOW THEIR RELATIONSHIP DEVELOPED/THE SETBACKS THEY MAY HAVE WENT THROUGH? MAYBE READER ACTS OUT AND FLIRTS WITH SOMEONE ELSE OR IGNORES HIM? HE MENTIONED BEING THE ONLY ONE TO MAKE HER FEEL THIS WAY, SO NOW I'M CURIOUS~
> 
> \--wakanda-inspired

**[** **So this is the little blank ‘two month’ troubled grey area that was vaguely hinted at in the first part; it’s about to go down this part.]**

“Ah, ah, ahhohmygod…” Flat on your back, legs pressed to your ears practically, T’Challa’s cock thrusts into you with long, slow strokes. His arms are pressed in the push up position, and as he fucks into you steadily, the sound of his balls slapping against your ass cheeks is loud in the hotel room. 

“Kum…kumka…” T’Challa shifted his position a little, arms relaxing and locking underneath your elbows and thighs, forcing you to keep your legs up in the air and spread wide. He buries his face into the left side of your neck, rhythm changing and his strokes became short and brutal. “Ah, ah, oh shi…” Hands flying to his shoulders and the back of his head, you’re clutching him tight as he swirled his tongue around the top of your breasts. 

As he sat up once again, never losing his rhythm, the short brutal strokes became long, deep thrusts. T’Challa grabs the top of your ankles, “Hold them just like that for me, usana,” and you do as told, holding your legs together at the calves, “That’s my girl. So perfect, look at you…” He was hitting all your sweet spots, and the way he was talking to you, something about his voice made you just want to give him whatever he wanted. T’Challa used his left hand to push on your thighs, pressing your legs back a bit further, and your knees touched your breasts, while his right hand played with your clit, “Cum for me.” 

Permission given, your body obeyed the order, and you came, drenching his cock and the bed. The king set your legs down, slowly pulling his still hard cock out which is slick with your juices, and you weakly rolled onto your side. T’Challa’s hands smoothed over your body, caressing the soft flesh, “Kumkani, I can’t…” 

You don’t care that you’re whining, he thought he was slick and he wasn’t.

“You said, ‘I can’t’ for the past three orgasms, mnandi.” He kissed the top of your brow and with some coaxing, manages to make you get on your knees on the floor in front of the bed. 

“Open.” 

You do and he pushes into your mouth with a moan. He starts to pump and as you watch him, and he watches you, dark brown eyes blown wide with arousal, and this entire thing that’s happening only turns you on even more. 

“I’m going to cum in your mouth, usana,” his voice normally so calm and controlled, now sounds just a bit rougher, “And if you swallow every last drop I give, then I’ll reward you.” You nod to show you understand and he smiles. 

“Now take my cock all the way in.” 

You drop your chin to take him deeper, and he thrusts into your mouth harder and faster. His body starts to shake a bit and you know he’s close. This isn’t something y’all have done alot, at least not lately, and you missed it, the taste of him on your tongue, in your mouth. 

“Uhn, suck it, Y/N, suck it harder, usana,” And just when you think you might gag with how deep he is, you feel him cum. He fills your mouth and you have to swallow fast so you don’t lose a drop of him. T’Challa’s dick is hitting the back of your throat and you swallow, which brings about a round of whole new moans and swears, but soon, you’re licking him clean.

T’Challa kisses the top of your head. Then your temple. And then the corner of your mouth, lingering there for a moment. “Enkosi.” His voice whispers against the shell of your ear. “You won’t regret choosing me, I promise.” 

“I know.” Your voice is quiet, practically a whisper. 

A knock on the door shatters the fragile moment, loaded with tension and unspoken words, and the king jerks his head in the direction of the bathroom. Standing up, you pad across the plush carpeted floor to the door which led to the bathroom, just as he stood up to answer the door, probably room service.

**7 ½ hrs earlier**

You didn’t know how to act with King T’Challa. 

Not after…

The proper thing would be to report him. But to whom, HR? Ayo? General Okoye? Stressing about the unknown had caused you to be practically mute in his presence the first few days, then days had turned to weeks. Before you’d even consciously realized it, you’d kept your silence and well out of reaching distance a month and two days. 

You wore dress pants and button down shirts, for Bast’s sake! Anything that could be considered sexy or enticing, you nuked. Threw it to the back of your closet and pretended that it didn’t exist. 

As for the king himself, well, that’s complicated. 

Much to your frustration, in the beginning, he tried to speak to you privately or after hours, but you’d taken to taking extra work home with you if necessary, and after a week, he got the hint. 

Besides the silence, the two of y’all still worked like a well oiled machine.

“There’s a festival happening in the marketplace from sunrise to sunset tomorrow.”

Scrtch-scrtch-scrtch. “The Golden Firefest? I will not be attending.”

Your brows furrowed. “But it’s mandatory.”

“It is not mandatory.” Never pausing in his signing of documents, he turned the page of the pamphlet he’s currently reading. “And my presence will not be missed.”

“Your forefathers and even,” Gripping the clipboard in your hands, you pause. The tension in the room wracked up a notch as the elephant in the room about the late king threatened to burst. “…Okay, perhaps I exaggerated. It isn’t mandatory but those in the Golden Tribe line have always attended and the people would like to see their king.”

T’Challa threw the pen down on his desk. “I…am trying,” he gestured to the papers littering his desk. “To work and you keep bringing up a festival that has no significant value except to get drunk and do nothing all day.” 

You gaped at him. “The Golden Firefest is  _not_ only about getting drunk and doing nothing all day!” It totally was. You’d lived for those days as a child, when your mom would let you sip at honey sweet wine, feeling so adult and important. “It is about unity. Community. Coming together and cleansing the soul. It is a sacred tradition founded by your great great grandfather, you should know this!”

“Stop trying to educate me on my own family history–” There’s a knock at the door and he threw his hands up in the air. “ _What_?!”

“Is everything alright, kumkani?” Ayo’s voice is muffled but distinguishable. 

T’Challa dragged a hand down his face. “Everything…” he sighed. “Everything is fine.” Once her footfalls faded away, he looked at you. “Since you are so insistent that I attend the festival, so will you. You will be at my side the entire time.”

“But, kumkani…” 

He made a cutting motion with his hand and your protests stopped. “It is mandatory.” Picking up his pen again, he rolled his shoulders, trying to relax. “And wear something light.”

“Yes, kumkani.”

Thus that’s how you ended up shanghai’d into attending the festival with King T’Challa. You arrived at the office a quarter to five and pretended to not notice how he stopped all communication with Okoye to rake his gaze over you in the beautiful, form fitting dress that you’d dug out of the back of your closet. 

“We don’t have to be there the entire day. Maybe until evening, just so everyone can see me.” T’Challa said. 

“While offering you all types of alcohol to drink, and delicious food to eat. Is it true you get first taste on everything?” You asked, pressing your hands together. “Oooh, I’m looking forward to trying sishebo. My cousins always ‘come over to visit’ the day after the festival and eat my portion every year. It is…”

Okoye coughed into her fist.

“But of course, enjoying the festivities is not on the agenda, I understand since it is a holiday that has ‘no value’.” You deflate. “I brought paperwork to be completed once we finish our rounds, kumkani.” 

He seemed to struggle with saying something. Then just sighed. “Let us be off.” T’Challa suggested and you nodded. 

Many years, you’d attended the Golden Firefest. And every year, you could say that you had a good time. Now was no different. People that you knew, vendors whom you sometimes haggled with, they all greeted you the same, it was just with a sympathetic twist to their face as they realized that technically you were working. 

“Shame on you, kumkani!” Ms. Agatha waved a finger in T’Challa’s face, ignoring Okoye’s hissed warning to stop. “Making this poor sweet dear work overtime. Here, child, have some more sweet bread.”

“Mm, mm.” You held out your plate, accepting the thick slice of bread, chewing quickly, enjoying the explosion of berries on your tongue. “It’s  _so good_. Thank you.” 

“Somehow, I do not think she is very much burdened by her duty.” T’Challa’s voice is dry as dust. “…May I have some more sweet bread?”

“No.” You pouted in the elderly woman’s direction and she sighed, grumbling all the while, she cut him a slice and gave it to him. “Fine, but that’s it. Now off with you both!”

“Did you want some sweet bread, General?” Okoye cut you a look and you shrugged. “More for me, then.” 

Although you tried and tried to stay at a subtle distance, it just didn’t work. The streets were packed. You and T’Challa were constantly in close contact with each other and he was insistent on getting to know you, so he asked questions, or made up elaborate guesses that forced you to correct him. He made you laugh. And in a rare instance,  _you_ made  _him_ laugh for five minutes straight, the sound loud and goofy, contagious, and you ended up laughing with him just ‘cause. Then you realized belatedly that this entire time at the festival, being with him… 

It felt like a  _date_. 

And so you clammed up all over again. 

T’Challa looked stunned and a bit hurt by the abrupt change in your attitude before his features became neutral. The walk to the hotel was spent in silence and when he requested separate rooms, you winced but still kept quiet. Work was sectioned off and divided between the two of y’all and you went to your own room to work on your half. 

You spent thirty minutes reading the same sentence, spending more time rationalizing why it would be a bad idea to pursue anything with T’Challa, he was the King… And then it circled back to the truth that you’d already started something, abrupt though it’d been. So, against all your thoughts in the back of your mind screaming not to, your feet found themselves at his door. Then after several minutes, just as you convinced yourself it was a bad idea and you were going to chicken out, the door opened and there he was. 

Naked. 

Or at least partially naked, as he had a towel around his waist and shoulders. 

“Did you need something?” 

“You.” The word left your mouth breathily.

“What?” T’Challa raised an eyebrow, though judging by the amused curl of his lips that he was trying to stop, he’d heard you quite clearly. “Speak up, Y/N, you were mumbling.” 

“I want,” Stretching your hands up, they wound around his shoulders, “You, kumkani.” And you’re about to kiss him, he’s actually half leaning down to kiss you, before seeming to come to his senses and putting both hands on your shoulders, pushing you away slight. “…What?”

“You’ve been ignoring me for a solid month,” You winced and he nodded, slight bitterness in his eyes. “And we were having fun at the festival before you shut down on me. And  _now_ you want me?” T’Challa cocked his head to the side. “I am not a toy. You don’t get to just…” 

“And yet it’s fine for you to do,” You heard someone walking down the hall and without thinking twice, pushed him inside, closing and locking the door. Looking back at him, you frown. “You…you, did… _we had sex in your **office**_! It came out of nowhere, without warning. I thought it was a one-off thing. It was extremely unprofessional, on both our parts, but I couldn’t stop thinking about it. And I thought that the cons would outweigh the benefits if we did try anything, whether just sex or, or actual dating.” T’Challa’s face fell. 

“But, today showed me different.”

“Different?” He’s cautiously hopeful. 

You breathed in deeply, reaching for him and this time, T’Challa didn’t stop your hands as they explored the hard planes of his body. “It’d be a disservice to the both of us if we don’t at least try.” You murmur, hands going lower and lower. T’Challa lifted you up your hips, roughly, but carefully tossing you onto the bed. You landed with a little oomph and he was soon on you, ripping the fabric of your dress in his haste to touch and taste you, promising that he’d have it replaced or buy you an entirely new one…


	4. Chapter 4

Wakanda very rarely experienced thunderstorms and rain showers unlike the rest of the world. Most of the time, its just straight sunshine and sometimes a cool breeze. Right now though, it’s definitely raining outside, you can hear a steady downpour as it beat down on the tiles of the roof of this house which is mostly empty, sans two. 

You and his highness, King T’Challa. 

Insatiable as always and forever hungry for you, he’d taken you in every room; on the floor of the living room, the feeling of the plush carpet brushing against your naked back not something you’d forget any time soon, on the island counter in the kitchen, his hand tangled in your hair as he hit from the back, against the wall by the bathroom, your legs secure around his hips as he held you up easily, before the two of you eventually, finally, made it to the bedroom. 

In an actual bed and everything, T’Challa still didn’t take it any easier on you. Even though he’d already previously made you cum three, no, was it four…four or five times? You’d lost track of how many times he’d made you cum by now, your skin felt over sensitive and you were coasting on a wave of another orgasm that was just out of reach because T’Challa was being an asshole and kept edging you, refusing to stimulate your clit or let  _you_ do it, because Bast damn it–

“Sithandwa sam…” His voice is a hot whisper right next to your ear. “Open your eyes, look at me.” 

You shook your head side to side, half burying your face into the fluffy pillows. 

“I said,  **look at me**.” 

Shit, he’s using that voice again. That darkly seductive tone that made your knees quiver and your pussy wet. Apparently you took too long to acquise because he swatted you hard on the ass and you jolted involuntarily, arching back against him and eyelashes, wet with tears, opened.

T’Challa peered down at you, satisfaction and something softer in his gaze, “That’s my good girl. Obeying your king just like you should.” He was moving in you, not even a thrust, as it was too soft for that, “So good for me and now I want you to cum. Are you going to cum for me?”

You nod and that earns another hard swat, so you open your mouth and words come pouring out, “Yes…yes…I’m gonna cum….I’m gonna cum…” Hands lifting up, they wind around his neck, forcing him to lean down and your legs locked around him. 

“Gonna cum, gonna c-cum….Cum with me, kumkani…” T’Challa let out this choked whisper as you clamped down around his cock, and your hands left his shoulders to find his ass, pushing him deeper in you as you gushed around him, soaking his cock. There’s a little riiiping sound, and he managed a few more short thrusts before he came, warming your womb with his seed. 

You feel sweaty and shaky and pleasantly satisfied as you relax and enjoy the afterglow. 

“Ndiyakuthanda…”

For a moment it felt like your heart stopped beating and was throbbing in your throat or something. T’Challa lifted his head and his expression softened, he kissed your brow. 

“You don’t have to say it back anytime soon or at all, entle, I told you. Just let me stay at your side, don’t push me away.”

Nodding, you ran your hand over his bearded cheek, an action that soothed him and chased away the anxiety and fear in his expression. How you missed something as momentous as the king of Wakanda loving you and for years at that, you’d never know. 

**3 ½ hrs. ago**

“Amina, you’re going to see her?”

You glance up from the work that you’re currently editing. “Well, yes,” You say slowly, in  a ‘Duh!’ tone. Unless I needed a hall pass to check in with you now to visit my own mother?”

T’Challa held his hands up in a surrendering manner. “Of course you can visit your mother!” He twirled his pen in between his fingers. “I was just thinking to myself, ‘it’s been a long time since I saw my father’s old personal assistant and’–”

Cutting him a look, you stop him from further exaggerating, “You’re trying to avoid doing any work, aren’t you?”

“Well…” he hedged.

“If you don’t finish at least a quarter of that work, Okoye will give me this silent, disappointed and judging stare. You may be immune to her stares but let me tell you, her side eye is particularly scalding and I do not want to get into any trouble with the General today.” T’Challa deflated and you set a timer on your kimoyo beads. “I’ll give you thirty minutes. If you’re not done by then, I’ll leave without you.” 

Yes, General Okoye knew about you and T’Challa’s relationship; had in fact walked in on the two of you during a particularly…intense session, the king had his hand around your throat and…Well, long story short, she nearly skewered him. Then when she got the full story, she  _still_ nearly skewered him, but once she calmed down, she expressed disappointment in the both of you. It’d taken weeks before she could do more than say a few one word answers to you in passing, but gradually, once she was assured that you weren’t out to hurt or exploit T’Challa (and realized due to his position, it was technically the other way around), she grudgingly accepted the relationship and you; her only condition being to lock the doors from now on. 

“These are nothing but requests for our tech. I could be done in ten minutes.” T’Challa boasted.

“Yes, yes. Time’s ticking, kumkani.” You remind him then hide a smile as he hurriedly gets to work.

Once the task is complete, a member of the Dora Milaje accompanies y’all in a car as per Okoye’s orders and drives y’all halfway across town to the restaurant that your mother had agreed to meet and have lunch with you at. It’s earlier than an expected since y’all drove, so T’Challa spends that time steadily trying to tell the Dora member that no, she really doesn’t have to accompany him into the restaurant, and that he’d be perfectly fine… 

You’d tuned out to that conversation ten minutes in and found a table towards the back that would seat three people and wouldn’t disturb other patrons, although… Glancing around, you see that no one has really come in today even though it’s nearing lunch time. 

After you’re seated, the waiter leaves a couple menus and brings some a pitch of water, a few glasses, and appetizers, promising to return when you’re ready to order. The next time you look up, it’s to see that T’Challa gallantly has your mother’s arm twined with his and he’s leading her to the table, matching his stride to hers. 

Feeling nerves shoot through you as she was already laughing at something T’Challa said and holycrapballshowareyougoingtomeasureu–

“Ungubani?”

“Y/N Y/L/N, daughter of A…” You begin to say by rote, only for weathered hands to land on yours, jolting you back to reality and there she is, your mother, looking at you with soft, understanding eyes. Forgiving and asking for forgiveness. You were both  _so stubborn_. So many years wasted not talking to each other and for what…? “Daughter of Amina.” Your voice hitched, sounding a bit husky and T’Challa subtly glanced at you in askance but you ignored him for now. 

“That’s right.” She patted your hands. “My daughter, accomplishing big things one day at a time, just like I knew you would.” Again, she patted your hands. “Now is my “Very Important” daughter going to pull out a chair for her wrinkled old crone of a mother?”

The laugh that leaves your lips is a bit loud, a bit relieved, a bit hysterical. “Oh, Mama, you don’t look a day over thirty five.” You promise and then do as she bid, falling into routine as if you’d never stopped. 

Admittedly, the lunch meetup was tolerable. 

…Okay, it was fun. 

Sometimes it was a bit weird since, technically, she knew T’Challa much better and longer than you had, only you’d remind yourself that she’d been King T’Chaka’s assistant so  _of course_  she’d cross paths with the then Prince. The amount of dirt she had on him was out of this world, and she was a storyteller for sure, throwing teasing winks and jabbing at his side with no fear at all though his face was set in a permanent state of Suffering™. 

Not that you got away scot-free either, oh no! 

Your mom certainly teased you to death too, and then some. 

It felt… **good** to be doing this, having this outing. Like you’d lifted a burden off your soul. Bast really was dropping blessings today. 

“It does this old lady’s heart good to see you youngin’s in love and take the plunge to be together so openly.”

Wait, what?

“Truly, I thought I’d be on death’s door before kumkani here actually confessed that he loved you, has been in love with you, since you were–”

“What?” You croak.

Your mother looked at you with slight confusion, “He hasn’t told you that he’s in love with you? Has been since before you stopped coming to the Golden City, playing in the castle gardens while I worked and he’d hide around corners, too afraid to approach you, so he sent Nakia to play with you?”

“Miss Amina.” T’Challa interrupted, making abortive, frantic ‘No’ signals. 

“…What?” You sounded like a broken record. 

Amina looked between you and T’Challa several times before a figurative light bulb went off over her head. “Ah, would you look at the time? My soap operas are about to start! I must be off at once.”

“Mama…”

“Next time, dear, yes? Let’s get together for dinner.” A pat on your shoulder and kiss on your forehead and she turned to the king. “That fierce looking lady outside, she can stand with me at the bus stop.”

“Of course.” T’Challa uttered. 

Once she hobbled for the door, moving quite fast for ‘an old crone’, you looked at the king but he was looking at the table. “What was she talking about? Did she lie, maybe, I don’t know, confuse some things? Get the facts mixed up? Everyone knows you and Nakia were dating. Have dated in the past? Whatever!”

T’Challa’s shoulders drooped. “It’s complicated.” 

“Well make it less complicated!”

You could see he was beginning to shrink in on himself. “Can we not discuss this here?” You inhale sharply, gearing up for a chewing out. “Please?”

Nodding curtly, you decided to let things go. For now.

So, the rest of the lunch outing ended on a…Unusual note. 

Once the Dora came back, T’Challa offered you his arm and although you were confused and angry, though the anger only came because you’re confused, you weren’t rude enough to ignore his chivalrous gesture and took his arm. Stepping outside the restaurant, you could smell in the air the oncoming rainshower. There hadn’t been one in awhile so it was due this season. 

T’Challa held the door for you and let you slide in the car first, the once it took off, he didn’t beat around the bush. He explained that your mother hadn’t lied about anything. 

Not one word. It’s all been the truth. 

“Nakia and I did date, very briefly, but it didn’t work. We were just too different to be compatible and we loved….” He sucked in a breath. “Love different people.”

You had a hand on your forehead the entire explanation, a headache throbbing in your temples. “Bast preserve me.”

“I’m sorry.” T’Challa apologized.

“Did you only hire me because…” You paused and then swallowed. “Kumkani, this situation is very unorthodox.”

“I’m sorry.” He repeated himself.

“Of course, I’ve had a few lovers and been in a serious relationship or two, but never enough to…” Your nervous rambling stopped and you glanced at the individual sitting next to you, rattled to see him crying silently. “…Kumkani?”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t, this isn’t, I’m not trying to get sympathy.” T’Challa promised. “I understand your position and I’ve already compromised you enough with my greediness. I really didn’t hire you just for….for that. I swear it! Your resume is very long and impressive and you could be hired anywhere. I’ll get started on recommendations immediately.”

“Kumkani…” You try to speak up. 

“–Never intended to tell you and now it’s all a big mess and I’m so–”

Unable to listen to his (pitiful, adorable?) ramblings, you leaned over, turning his chin and kissed him. It was the most awkward kiss ever but it got him to be quiet. Leaning back, you wiped at his cheeks tenderly. “I don’t know how I feel about this revelation, it’ll probably be a little bit before it sinks in. You’ve…” You paused, breathing in deep. “You’ve loved me a long time, kumkani, and were content to hold that in. I’m not asking you to do that indefinitely, just…”

T’Challa understood the silent request because he just nodded, leaning his head against your shoulder and you ran your fingers through his short curls. “Do you want to go to my place? It sounds like it will rain any minute and we can wait out before returning to the office.” He smiled against your neck and you immediately knew the direction his brain went. 

After the weird afternoon, would it be so terrible to indulge and ignore the elephant in the room (car) for a bit? Apparently he agreed because he had the Dora change directions and drive to your place instead, just as it started to rain.


	5. Ready, Set, Let's Go! (Part I)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The heart that’s meant to love you will fight for you when you want to give up, pick you up when you’re feeling down, and will give their smile when it’s hard for you to find yours. They will NEVER get strength from seeing you weak, power from seeing you hurt, or joy from seeing you cry. The heart that’s meant to love you wants to see the BEST YOU, not the hurt you! Never forget that.

“Can we talk?” The inquiry is softly spoken. Your hands are neatly folded in front of you, body language subdued, “Please, kumkani.” You added, overly aware of Okoye and Ayo flanking the king, like sentinels, and as you’d approached, the General’s gaze on you is particularly scalding. 

T’Challa’s shoulders raised slightly as he inhaled, then fell as he sighed quietly. “Give us the room, please.”

“We’ll be right outside.” Okoye promised, though it was just as much an assurance as it is a threat. Ayo was less vocal as her superior, nodding to both you and T’Challa as she followed her sister-in-arms outside the room, closing the door behind her gently. 

For a moment, neither he nor you said anything, just stared at each silently. 

“I’d like to apologize to you,’ You held up a hand as T’Challa parted his lips, about to say something. “No, I, I really…Am so sorry. It should have been a routine retrieval mission today, and everything that could have went wrong, did, and then there was Remy, just being his normal flirtatious, irritating self, and I probably made things worse by giving him the time of day.” You’re rambling. “Really, I’m just so sorry.”

“Y/N.” 

“There’s nothing going on between us.” You look T’Challa right in the eye as you say this. “When I was younger, making stupider decisions, I might have wanted that, but since I’ve met you–”

T’Challa interrupted, “I am no one’s second choice. Not even for you, Y/N.”

“No!” Unable to handle the distance any longer, you approached the king now, “You’re not a second choice, there isn’t even a choice to make because,” You reached out, fingers dancing over his jaw. “Because you’re the first person that pops into my head before I’m fully awake, and you’re who I think about before I close my eyes to sleep. I–” 

Your voice hitched slightly. 

“I  _smile_ with you and there is so much joy in my heart. You never make me feel as if I’m too much or that I have to lessen myself in your presence.” Sucking in a breath, you gather your courage, continuing to speak, “And I know that I hurt you these past few months even though you say it’s alright, with my indecisiveness in regards to your feelings and made you feel that it wasn’t okay to keep saying that…that you loved me while I tried to overanalyze how I felt because I didn’t want to be wrong. I had to be certain…” 

T’Challa raised an eyebrow briefly, trying to appear unaffected, even as his hand encircled your wrist, to pull back and maintain distance because the more you touched him, even for a second, the more he lost his senses and got caught up in you; wanting and needing your kisses, your hands on his bare skin, to be buried inside you. “‘Certain’, of what?” Steadfastly, he ignored his heart which had traitorously begun to pound in his chest, some part of him still longing, hoping.

“I had to be certain that I could give you all of me. My heart included if you will still accept it…?” You looked at him with a rueful expression. “I understand if you don’t believe me right now but I love you, kum…” Pausing, you swallowed. 

Fidgeted, looking down at your feet, then up at him from beneath your lashes. 

“T…T’Chall–ah?!” The king had barely let you finish the last of your diatribe before he tugged you forward by your captured wrist, not stopping until the two of you are chest to chest. “Mm…” His hands braced on either side of your neck, your head tilted up slightly, the two of you shared a kiss, fairly chaste compared to the usual. 

The kiss quickly became fervent though, his left hand moving to the nape of your neck as he thoroughly plundered your mouth. Things probably would have become even more heated but, there’s a knock at the door. At first, the knock was ignored but after the second knock, he lifted his head, irritated by the interruption, “What is it?”

“Agent Ross would like to speak with you, kumkani. He says it is urgent.” That was Ayo. 

T’Challa sighed heavily, muttering underneath his breath, “I have something urgent going on right now…”

Amused, you gave him a peck underneath his chin. “He probably wants to touch base with you, figure out what the hell happened here.” You pecked him on the lips. “Go be a king.”

He reluctantly untangled himself from you. “We are going to finish this.” T’Challa promised.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way, lover.” 

That coy statement nearly had him running back to you. The third time there’s a knock it’s Okoye’s voice that’s heard, requesting his presence, and his shoulders slump, he dragged his feet, walking towards the door, much to your amusement. 

‘What a day, what a day…’ You muse to yourself privately.

**Almost 24 hours ago  
Wakanda**

Things had been…delicate between you and his highness, the king. 

Now that you’d been made aware of his feelings, every interaction with him thus far had been colored with the knowledge. Although you’d been told there was no rush to tell him those three words back, it just didn’t feel right and you didn’t want to lead him on, so the sexual aspect of your relationship had been put on a temporary hold; a few days for some much needed soul searching had quickly and unexpectedly spanned into three months. 

Yet you were still no closer to putting into words what he meant to you than the day he told you the truth he’d been hiding in his own heart. 

Fiddling with your kimoyo bead bracelet, you sigh near soundlessly. Being that you were not anyone of import, like the Dora Milaje, or high ranking in your Tribe, such as the Princess or Queen Mother or the Elders, you were not allowed to stand in and listen to the dealings and conversations that occured during Council meetings, instead, you were left outside and had to wait until the meeting’s conclusion. 

Just as you started to wonder if the meeting would ever conclude, as you’d been waiting for over an hour and a half already, suddenly the doors to the throne room opened and you hurriedly straightened to attention, schooling your face into something more passive instead of bored as people started to file out. 

“Y/N?”

Eyes darting up, you look down again and you’re about to salute Ramonda but the older woman waves off the gesture. “Queen Mother.” You dip your head respectfully anyway, hard earned habit too difficult to break. “Princess.” And then you do the same to the younger genius girl. “It gladdens me to see you both in good health.” 

“So  _you’re_ the infamous Y/N?” Shuri inquired, though there’s an undercurrent of teasing that you’re unsure is directed at you or elsewhere.

“Eh?” You blink in confusion. Infamous, you? 

“My brother keeps you sequestered away in his office all hours of the day, I almost thought–ow!” Shuri rubbed her arm after her mother discreetly pinched her. 

“It is good to see you again,” Ramonda remarked, her voice warm. “Please give my regards to your mother when you see her again.” After you nodded, she nudged her youngest forward. 

“What was that all about…?” You wonder to yourself aloud, bewildered by the entire exchange.

“And whom are you talking to?” T’Challa’s breath ghosted your ear and you jumped high in the air with fright. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I couldn’t resist. Sometimes you get so into your own head, you neglect to pay attention to your surroundings.” 

“Kumkani, that is not funny…” You half glower at him.

“It is a  _little_ funny.” T’Challa pinched his fingers together so there’s a breadth of space between to indicate his meaning. You shake your head, grumbling. “Alright, alright. To make it up to you, how about this, you come with me on today’s mission?”

Perking up, you look at him, curious but also cautious. “Mission?”

“Yes,” Hands behind his back, he began to walk and you fell into step beside him, the Dora trailing behind the two of you. “Today I received word from my War Dog stationed in sector 1407, some nefarious individuals have acquired a crate of vibranium, assumedly from one of Klaue’s many hideouts and had been put up for sale on the black market.” 

“Sector 1407,” You murmur. “That’s based in New York, Westchester County. …Bomani–?!”

“Normally, I don’t like to bring family members into missions such as these for a number of reasons. However, I trust my gut and something tells me that you will be of use tonight.” Pausing, he smiled genially at you. “If you wish to go, of course?”

“I wish to go.” You nod.

“There will likely be fighting.” He added. 

“I wish to go.” You repeat yourself.

T’Challa reached out, as if to touch you, but stopped mid motion, hand falling to his side, and you almost wished that he had touched you anyway, some part of you disappointed. “Good.” Nodding shortly, he continued on to say, “Bomani is acting as a security guard in the location where the buyer and seller chose to meet. We’ll touch base with him and go from there.”

“Understood.” You nod. 

**The Gilded Trinket Casino  
** New York, New York  
8:56 P.M. 

Outfitted with communication devices and the best combat gear that Shuri could cook up on short notice, Okoye, T’Challa and yourself entered the establishment with little fanfare. 

You maintained the mask of a bored and rich socialite as the security guard, a handsome brown skinned male standing at five foot eight, briskly patted you down to see if you were carrying anything, and his eyes, the left dark brown, while the right is bright blue, roved over your face briefly. 

“She’s clean. Let her through.” 

And then he waved you inside. Accepting the clutch from the other security guard, you let out a silent exhale, gazing around the establishment with only slight interest. 

“Spread out. The people we’re looking for could be anywhere.” 

Orders given, you descend the staircase and migrate to the bar. You’re about to give your drink order but blink in surprise when your favorite drink is placed in front of you. “Excuse me but I didn’t–”

“Don’t worry about it, chère.” 

You closed your eyes briefly, praying to Bast for patience. Then you turned around, spotting the handsome and tall brunette sitting on a bar chair, glass of rum in hand. “I don’t drink these anymore.” 

“Still a terrible liar. Your brows get all furrowed when you do.” 

Rolling your eyes, you shake your head and walk away, but hear footfalls behind you and soon, a calloused hand is on your wrist, tugging. You twist around, two fingers pressed against his side. “Do you really want to be a drooling mess on the floor, LeBeau? You know my rule about touching.”

“I always did think it was sexy that you knew the pressure points on the human body.” You pressed harder and he made an ‘okay, okay’ gesture. “Just joking! I’m just joking! You know ol’ Remy can’t resist the chance to make you laugh.”

“Except when you make me cry, right?” You retort dryly. He winced. Point proven, you pulled your hand away and Remy stepped back a step. “What are you doing here, don’t tell me Bomani told you I’d be here?”   

“Bo does like a good love story, but no, not this time, chère.” Remy brushed a hand down the front of his suit. “The buyer wanting that vibranium is Mathias Levy.”

Brows rising in surprise, “The business tycoon? Humanitarian and–”

Remy interrupted. “Racist, prejudice and misogynist? Yea, dat be him. He’s small fry compared to the one that he’s buying the vibranium from.” 

“Don’t leave me in suspense.” You push for the intel. 

“Graydon Creed.” Remy said in a hushed whisper. “Which is why you shouldn’t be here tonight, chère. Just go. Things are going to get–”

There’s a crash from somewhere and as you look for the source, you see Captain America of all people bursting in like some rough faced deranged lumberjack, and he’s tussling with T’Challa.

You’re about to go to his aid but Remy grabs your arm and you don’t even think twice. You throw the clutch at his face and he grunts from the impact, you kick him in the chest, propelling yourself away with the momentum. Tucking and rolling, you get up again, shoving people out of the way. 

Halfway to the destination, a blonde woman stops you. 

“Sorry. Can’t let you by. Cap’s orders.”

There’s something about her, you feel like you’ve seen her face…Then it hits you. “Natasha Romanoff?” You ask to clarify. “…What happened to your eyebrows?”

And by some unseen bell ringing, signifying ‘begin’, the two of you are soon locked in combat now too. She threw a punch, you counter, wrapping your hand around her fist and drawing her forward, using your elbow to slam into her stomach, and she headbutted you. Pain exploded like mini lights behind your eyelids but you shake it off, shove her back. But she doesn’t let up, charging at you with a high kick, you go low, catching her by her too tight shirt and throwing her overhead. 

There’s another crash, this time like a blast going off and against better judgement, you rush up the stairs towards the noise. Smoke is everywhere, you can barely breathe, people are screaming, trying to get away, then someone’s hand is around your face, dragging you backwards…


	6. Ready, Set, Let's Go! (Part II)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The heart that’s meant to love you will fight for you when you want to give up, pick you up when you’re feeling down, and will give their smile when it’s hard for you to find yours. They will NEVER get strength from seeing you weak, power from seeing you hurt, or joy from seeing you cry. The heart that’s meant to love you wants to see the BEST YOU, not the hurt you! Never forget that.

The return to something approaching wakefulness feels…disturbingly hazy and blurred around the edge of your vision. 

Limbs heavy and lethargic but your brain is not and you quickly conclude that you’d been drugged, chloroform most likely, you muse to yourself as you swallow and your throat is dry. 

How many hours had you been out and–, discreetly as you could, you attempt to move your hands and feet, belatedly realizing that you’d been bound with zip ties. 

‘Problematic, but not the end of the world.’ 

“Did you see that? I think one’em moved!” Suddenly a person spoke and you take note that it’s a male with a cockney accent right before you heard a ‘click’, heart rate spiking but your eyes closed on instinct, just in time as a light is shined on your face unwaveringly for several seconds before moving on, but you still kept still and features lax, as if you’d never woken. 

“I could’ve sworn…”

“You’re just paranoid, that’s all. Could be good in this type of business, what with do gooders like Stark swooping down on us. Or those other weirdos, what did they call themselves, with the Cap look alike?” The other person, another male, this time sounding more American and with the atypical New York drawl, remarked.

“Fantastic Four!”

“Right, them. Anyways, we’ve been on the road for miles, so it’s probably just nerves, like I said. Just ease up on the itchy trigger finger–”

Tuning out the rest of their conversation, you blink slowly, carefully and bite back the scream that wants to leave your throat when you see that something….No, somebody, a mutant with reptilian features, is dead right next to you, bullet to the brain. 

‘So that’s what the other meant about an itchy trigger finger…’ 

Heart pounding, the urge to throw up is strong, but you swallow it back. 

You can scream and cry and hyperventilate afterward to your psychiatrist once this little adventure ended. Right now, there were bigger things to worry about, like who had taken you, Creed or Levy? Another unknown? Where are you going?

And since these men had no issue with murdering people…

There must have been a bump on the road or something because you’re jostled. Literally lifted about an inch off the ground before painfully dropped again onto the car floor. You felt that impact all the way down to your bones, and you clenched your teeth shut to contain any sound or noise that wanted to escape, especially because the dead body rolled right next to you. Again, bile threatened to rise up from the back of your throat and come out, but not a peep escaped your lips. 

And there, at the corner of your eye, you saw at the far side of the vehicle a flash of golden cat eyes. 

It only lasted for a second and you feel a sinking sensation in your chest. 

 

That _wasn’t_ a cat, you’d bet money on that.

However, you ignore the eyes on you, and instead carefully, oh so carefully, while praying fervently for forgiveness, asking the goddess Bast for protection, you used your head and shoulder to nudge at the body lying against you, only succeeding in getting the head to lol lifelessly and ooze blood onto the floor. There’s another bump on the road and you push lightly at the body again, which thankfully, this time, rolled away from you. 

“Did you hear that? Something’s moving back there.”

You hold keep your breathing level and play sleep once again as a light is shined in your direction once again.

“Would you cut it out with your paranoid bullshit!?” The American is apparently fed up with his partner. “Listen, we’re almost at the drop off point. It’s bad enough that you already killed one of them, we need the last two left to actually be able to pull this off.” 

“I’m telling you, one of them moved. What if it gets loose and attacks us, what if–”

“I’m telling you that it won’t!” The American shouted, sounding completely and utterly done. “Gimme that…” There’s a grunt and you can hear the squealing tires as the car shifted from lane to lane. “Gimme that fucking flashlight!” There’s another grunt and the sounds of scuffling before the flashlight is tossed into the back. “There!” So much smug triumph in that one word, even if the speaker is slightly out of breath. “Now, we are going to have a nice, relaxing drive without any further interruption. No distractions, no talking. Just peace and quiet.”

There’s a brief silence. “You didn’t have to throw my flashlight back there though.” 

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ…”

“Wait, wait, wait! Make a left. It’s on this pass right here.”

Opening your eyes again, you see that Golden Eyes is staring at you. The car pulls to a stop after a few minutes and you can hear the doors opening in the front seat. Hear the crunch of shoes on fallen leaves and grass, they’re coming around the back. You look across from you and see anxiety, fear, in those eyes and you can’t offer a reassurance before the car doors are opened and even though it’s dark out here, you can barely see the silhouettes of your kidnappers, you take note of the fact that one of them has a gun. 

“Look at that, so you were right.” Without any fear whatsoever, the American reached in and grabbed the reptilistic mutant’s body, dragging it out and dumping the carcass carelessly to the ground. 

You felt a frisson of anger at the callous behavior zing through you and you wrestled with your binds until you hear a little ‘click’ and the gun is turned warningly in your direction. 

“This is what’s going to happen. The two of you aren’t going to move a muscle or utter a sound while my buddy comes in and gets ya. How’s that sound, ‘ey?” Again, it seems like the American is in charge as he’s the only one that’s speaking right now. Neither you or the other with the golden eyes says a word and you see that he nods. 

“Very good. Go get’em.” 

The other man gets into the van and reaches to the right, grabbing the person and dragging, much to your indignation and disgust, another mutant, this time with claws and fangs, both which were bared as they, girl or boy you weren’t clear on yet, fought tooth and nail against her oppressor. The much bigger man was swiped at a few times, which he allowed for a minute or two before throwing the smaller body against the van’s side once, twice–

“That’s enough. I said we need them alive.” The American stressed the word ‘alive’, sounding annoyed and not disgusted with his cohort’s behavior. 

Breathing heavily, the bully of a man tossed the now limp child’s body out onto the ground before turning his attention to you. He sneered. 

“Are you going to give me as much trouble?”

You merely blinked up at him, saying not a word which only seemed to vex and anger him more as he still threw you out of the van and into the dirt.

“Okay!” Clapping his hands together, the American sniffed. “Let’s get’em up. The trail’s not too far.” Without fanfare, he grabbed the mutant child and his partner grabbed you by your zip tied wrists and beginning to drag you along the way. 

It was uncomfortable and painful and humiliating. 

But your eyes never stopped taking in your surroundings, you looked at your captors and categorized their facial features, what you could see under the cover of darkness. Soon, the four of you are in the middle of the clearing and the moon illuminates them clearly; middle aged, white, closely related, perhaps brothers, but overall, nothing stands out about them.

They were average, boring. Forgettable. 

“And what are you starin’ at, eh?” The paranoid one piped up, having caught you looking. “Huh, I asked you a question!” Roughly, he reached out and grabbed you by your hair, yanking your head back. “What are you starin’ at?!”

You said nothing.

“Maybe she’s mute, or stupid.” The laid back one volunteers, sounding far too amused with the situation. “Doesn’t know the language despite being in America, fucking immigrants.” Looking at you with mock kindness, he says in a frustratingly slow tone, “Do you understand me?”

“I know something that will get her to speak.” And then he pulls out an object that glints in the moonlight, and as he twirls it about expertly before swinging it out in your direction, towards you throat, at the last possible moment, you twist your arms, which had been behind your back, to the front and he cuts the zipties binding your hands together. 

This entire action took approximately 2.5 seconds.

(You counted.)

“You fuckin’ idiot–”

Jabbing two fingers into his wrists, you caught the switchblade that fell from his suddenly limp and useless hands, cutting your legs free in one smooth motion before grabbing him by a patch of his hair and used him as a body shield as the other accomplice started firing at you. 

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six–

Dropping the extra baggage to the ground, you threw the switchblade at the remaining offender, who was actually holding the child up to his chest like a makeshift shield, much to your disgust, and the blade hit it’s target, sinking into his left eye, he dropped the child, howling with pain and fury. 

Inhale.

You rolled forward, dodging the wild shot fired at you, grabbing a moderately sized rock. Lashing out with your left leg, as he went down, about to shoot at you again, you chucked the rock at his stomach, hearing him let out an ‘oomph!’ as he half keeled over, and your legs wrapped around his shoulders, palms balanced on the ground and pushing  _up_. The muscles in upper torso clench and burn as you’re right in his face now; you place both hands on the side of his neck, twisting sharply. 

He went down like a sack of bricks.

Exhale. 

Unwrapping your legs from his shoulders, you shove the body away from you with your foot. Spread out like a starfish on the ground, you gulp in air and peer up at the moon for several moments. Inhaling deeply and then letting the air out of your lungs, eventually your heart rate slowed, and with it, the realization that you hadn’t been alone.

“Hey…” Twisting your head around, you looked the kid. “Hey, are you good?” Sitting up, you look around but there’s no one around except for the dead bodies. ‘Kind of eerie.’ Without knowing the mutant and their ability, you couldn’t say for sure what had happened during the scuffle, but guessed that the kid had escaped during the chaos. 

Patting yourself down, you see that the kimoyo bead communication device is surprisingly still on your person. You use it to try and get in touch with the others; it’s Okoye that answers and gets your location, telling you to stay put.

Later, much later, you find out that the men who’d kidnapped you were some of Levy’s men that’d gone rogue with the intention of selling mutants to Graydon Creed and by extension, an anti-mutant organization called Friends of Humanity; Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum thought that because you were talking to Gambit, who was their original target, that you were a mutant too. 

(“Being a mutant sympathiser is just as bad in this group’s eyes,” Bomani said solemnly, hugging you tightly. “I’m just glad you’re okay, nkosikazi (ladybug). So glad…”)

As you’re patched up, despite your protests of it being unnecessary, you’re given little tidbits about what happened while you were gone. If your cousin, Bomani’s to be believed, he’d gone toe to toe with the Falcon and won, before focusing on the Scarlet Witch, whom he’d lost to, though he promised that he had a hand on her for more than thirty seconds, so he absorbed some of her power into his body, ‘just for safekeeping’. 

“I’ll give it back to her when she learns some responsibility.” he shrugged. As if he’d snagged a toy or something. 

“You’re acting like you be the only one who was fighting and holding their own, mon ami.” Remy commented, sounding far too amused. 

“Oh, yeah. This guy,” he jerked his thumb at the Cajun. “Helped your new boyfriend fight off the Captain America, they made a pretty decent team. It was awesome.” 

The smile slid off Remy’s face. “New boyfriend?” His red on black eyes bore into the side of your face. 

At the same time, Bomani looked panicked. “I wasn’t supposed to tell? I mean, auntie already told me…”

You were exhausted and at the same time, keyed up, for this. “I’m going to speak with his highness, T’Challa, now.” 

**~**

Fast Forward to the present (like right after T’Challa went to speak to Ross)

“He’s saying that you had Barnes in your custody. For months.” 

T’Challa could appreciate the agent’s candidness and forwardness. “And you would trust the word of a rogue, eh,” Crooking his fingers in air quotes, “Superhero,” Hands folding around his shoulders. “Over me, hmm? I am wounded by the lack of trust, Agent Ross.” 

Ross is unmoved. “You’ve lied to my face before, King T’Challa.” 

“That was under very different circumstances.” All traces of playfulness vanished from T’Challa’s expression and voice. “I would never jeopardize Wakanda’s safety by allowing a mentally unstable individual to roam freely; Barnes would have been killed on sight.” Ross’s lips parted, about to interrupt and the king made a sharp hand motion. “No, this man not only attacked me without provocation or warning, he is a wanted criminal by hundreds of states and official governments due to his erratic behavior and refusing to sign the Accords. And now he  _slanders_ me…” Pausing, he pressed a hand to his brow, he half turned away.

“King T’Challa, I…” 

“I will see this man and his enterourage jailed at once. Get it done or I will go over your head.” And without another word, he effectively dismissed the agent, walking away from him and the Dora followed after.

“Ukusebenza kakuhle, kumkani wam (excellent performance, my king).” Okoye’s lips barely moved and her gaze is straight ahead. 

“And the vibranium?”

“Sister Nakia intercepted those who were carrying it, she is returning to Wakanda with it as we speak.” 

Nodding briskly, T’Challa turned the corner. “Good. The sooner we can leave this country, the better.” 


	7. Ready, Set, Let's Go! (Part III - END)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The heart that’s meant to love you will fight for you when you want to give up, pick you up when you’re feeling down, and will give their smile when it’s hard for you to find yours. They will NEVER get strength from seeing you weak, power from seeing you hurt, or joy from seeing you cry. The heart that’s meant to love you wants to see the BEST YOU, not the hurt you! Never forget that.

**CAP GONE ROGUE!: A RENEGADE’S SHOCKING ACCUSATION!?**

**BAD DAY IN AMERICA: GOLDEN BOY LOST HIS SHINE!!**

**LEVY ARRESTED AND SENTENCED TO LIFE IN PRISON?!**

**STAND UP & SPEAK OUT: ANTI-MUTANT PROTESTORS TAKE TO THE STREET!**

“Interesting material you’ve managed to deposit into my lap and I haven’t even had my first cup of coffee.” T’Challa remarked droly, well aware of you standing at his elbow, practically radiating bad vibes and negative energy. 

The king managed to cut his eggs into sections, scoop a forkful into his mouth, along with a few bites of toast and a mouthful of coffee before the little aggravated sigh you let out finally got to him. 

“What is the issue, entle?”

“All of these….These ‘reporters’ are trash!” Your voice is trembling with restrained anger and irritation. “I understand the need for embellishment at times, but the hypocrisy, down to the very last letter…”

T’Challa could sympathize. “You expected to come across someone tough but fair in their assessments.” Slowly, he sipped at the rest of his coffee. “Entle, this  _is_ America.” 

“We need to get on top of this,” You say decisively, index finger tapping the first newspaper’s title, the photo of the bearded Captain in prison orange not too flattering a look. “Hold a press conference, denounce the rumors. Perhaps even play this to our advantage somehow as Cap wanting to use Wakanda’s tech to rehabilitate Barnes?”

“And wouldn’t that hit too far on the truth?”

“The fansites have already torn apart and dissected every scrap of news and information issued to the public; sad as it is to say, but individuals on the internet are closer to the truth than actual journalists.” Gathering up the stack of papers, you turn to leave. “I’m thinking we should find one of these Tumblr writers and add them to our PR team roster.”

T’Challa hummed, picking up his fork again and cutting the stack of pancakes into little triangles. “I leave the details to your discretion.” 

Pivoting, you briskly make for the door, only to pause when you heard him call your name. “Yes, kumkani?”

“Good morning to you as well.” 

You’re uncharacteristically embarrassed for reasons you couldn’t explain as you’d belatedly realized he’s only wearing a robe, despite the fact that you’d seen him naked and in far more intimate positions by now; you returned the greeting before retreating to find decent, ~~or at least not totally garbage people~~ , reporters, and maybe a news station, for this conference. The task took up to two and a half hours and during that time, you also had a granola bar and some coffee. 

“I strongly advise against doing this.”

Looking up, you see T’Challa briskly walking in the direction of the lobby doors, towards you, Okoye ever faithful and true, by his side. 

It was her voice you’d heard making that comment. 

“Just ignoring the rumors this time will not make them go away. Much as it puzzles me that a disgraced superhero’s opinion is still being considered valid, his comments is gaining traction in some circles.” T’Challa pointed out. “If we can manipulate the rumor mill now…”

“We can control the narrative going forward.” You finished the sentence for him.

“Somehow, I am not surprised that this is your doing.” Okoye stated, exhausted by your presence. 

Pursing your lips, you glance at T’Challa. “If you’d excuse us, kumkani?”

He looked between the two of you, his general and close confidante, and the love of his life, “I’ll be waiting in the car.” 

Once he walked out the lobby doors, you looked at the leader of the Dora. “I admire and respect you, General Okoye. I do. There is not one girl my age and older that doesn’t, I don’t believe. You are a force to be reckoned with. However, admiration aside, please show enough respect for me to understand that my relationship with kumkani does not impede or interfere with my job and doing it well.” 

Brushing a hand down the front of your blouse, you stood tall, head held high. 

“I may love that man, but I love my country too. And dare I say it, I love my country more. Enough that I will not allow some fair haired white boy throwing a tantrum to slander it.” 

Exhaling, you nodded to her. “Good day, General.”

As you began to walk away, she then spoke, “You’re not what I thought you to be.” Looking over your shoulder, you see that she’s smiling faintly and your steps faltered for a second. Then you nodded again briefly in acknowledgement before continuing on your way. T’Challa looked at you in askance when you got into the limo, closing the door. Only you shook your head and he let it go, giving the driver instructions to get to the destination.

The driver to the location is long and much more tedious than expected. New York traffic at it’s finest, apparently. While you went over some last minute notes and preparation with T’Challa, with him only interjecting or humming contemplatively at certain intervals to showcase that he’s listening, when suddenly, there’s a bump on the road, a pothole in the ground or something, and you ended up sprawled in his lap. 

You’re flustered, even more so when you feel his hand on your ass, probably intended to keep you from face planting initially. “Kumka–”

He silenced your instinctive protests with a kiss. “Three months.” T’Challa reminded you, pressing a button on the side of the door and the partition slid up. “Three months and one night technically, since the debacle at the casino that left you thoroughly exhausted and you slept in your own hotel bed, that’s how long I’ve been without you.” His hands are full out caressing your booty now. “Not to mention, I had to overhear that infuriating man, Reny, Rony? He spoke as if you were a possession, a forgotten doll he’d sat down after playing with for awhile.”

You tilt your chin up and let him lightly suck at your throat. 

“He had his hands all over you, as if he had the  _right_ …”

You felt his teeth nip at the sensitive flesh.

“And you let him.” 

It felt like the bottom of your stomach dropped out at his dark tone. “Kumkani,” At the irritated grumble emanating from his chest, you switched up your words, “T’Challa,” He looked at you now. “Remy is my past. A mistake made in my misspent youth. We all do stupid things when we’re young, mine was in thinking I could come between he and the woman he really loved.”

“Y/N…”

“And yes, he may have had my heart at one point, battered and bruised it in his efforts not to hurt me, which only hurt more, but the point is: you are my present, maybe even my future.” You shrugged. 

“I love you, and it is as simple and complicated as that.” 

T’Challa’s eyes roved over your face, looking for deception perhaps but when he found only truth, he kissed you. Your eyes fluttered closed and you took a moment to savor the feeling of his lips on yours, the feelings that he invoked in you. So that’s why you’re a bit blindsided and caught off guard when he smoothly took off your panties, holding them up like a prize. 

“And I love you too, usana, but you still need to be punished for not putting him in his place immediately. So these,” And his eyes twinkled, “Are mine for today.”

“Kumkani, you, what–?” You felt a burst of embarrassment fill you. 

The car pulled to a stop. The partition rolled down and the Dora Milaje member looked at the both of you impassively, “We’re here.” 

“No take backs.” And then he winked, pocketing his ‘prize’, adjusting his suit jacket before he got out of the car first.

You lingered for a second, much too embarrassed, but after a quick breathing exercise, you got control of your nerves and got out of the car as . Paparazzi were everywhere, and you felt another burst of embarrassment run through you, followed by annoyance. 

You stuck to your ‘No comment’ rule and walked by the vultures. 

At first, you could only think about what if’s during the conference, what if someone noticed, what if they said something, etc. But the thrill of the forbidden soon got to you and you thought ‘So what if they did?’ each time your fears threatened to overwhelm you, even more so when T’Challa flicked his gaze in your direction briefly, his eyes discreetly roving over your figure and when he caught you catching him looking, there was a minute smirk. 

That smirk did things to you. 

The conference couldn’t end fast enough for you! 

Yet still, T’Challa didn’t fuck you in the back of the limo like you wanted, like you begged. No, he shoved your panties in your mouth to keep you quiet while he spread your legs so they were half resting over his shoulders and he ate your pussy, not stopping until you were a shivering, incoherent mess and your juices stained the leather seats. 


	8. You Don't Know My Name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, we let affection go unspoken and our love go unexpressed. Especially towards those we love best.

“You should say something to her.” Nakia, all of six years and half years old, nudged her best friend. 

“Uh-uh, I can’t.” T’Challa shook his head.

“But why?”

Shrugging helplessly, unable to explain why the girl in the gardens made him so..so…he didn’t know! It felt weird to look at her, is all, especially because there were like butterflies exploding in his tummy. What if he was contagious?! “You go say hi.” 

“Fine.” Standing up and brushing off her dress, Nakia put her hands on her hips, staring him down. “Scaredy cat.” 

“Thank you…” he whispered to thin air as Nakia had already went to do as he asked. 

* * *

“Prince T’Challa, what are you doing?”

T’Challa flinched. Turning around, he smiled up at his father’s assistant, Miss Amina, who stared down at him, an eyebrow raised and a hand on her hip.  “Erm, that is, I…”

The other eyebrow raised. “Yes…?” 

Fiddling with his shirt, he looked down at his feet. “I wanted to, that is, maybe…”

“Mama, is that you?”

Panicked, he grabbed Miss Amina’s hand, and she lets him pull her around the corner. 

“My prince, w–” Befuddled, the woman tried to speak but he pressed a finger to his lips and she went quiet, bemused.

Out of the room came a little girl, about nine or ten, her [hair ](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.searchengineroyalty.com%2Fwp-content%2Fuploads%2F2018%2F07%2Fhair-colors-inspiration-for-you-using-amazing-cute-little-black-girl-hairstyles-728x728.jpg&t=MGVkNTRjODFjYjUyMGFlOTAzYzdkZTlhNjM4MzIyMDc4MGY2OTVjMSxlRXRQb0RxQw%3D%3D&b=t%3APwauZoCL8-SYTxdcS3Xtdw&p=https%3A%2F%2Ftchalla-after-dark.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F176936832685%2Fyou-dont-know-my-name&m=1)done up cutely and wearing a simple shirt and shorts, poked her head out, peering around, confused. After a minute or two, she shrugged and went back inside. 

“That was my daughter that we hid from.” 

‘Oh, she’s using her scary voice!’ “I know…” T’Challa poked his fingers together.

“Were you mean to her, is that why you hid?”

Looking up, he sputtered, “No! Never! I just, shesreallypretty.” 

“…Huh.” 

T’Challa thinks he’d prefer her to be mad than give him this amused, indulgent look she’s giving him right now. 

* * *

“We should kiss.”

T’Challa drops his sweet onto the plate. “What?” His voice comes out in a squeak. Nakia looks at him like he’s particularly stupid. 

“We should kiss.”

Nodding to say he heard her, “No, but why?” At thirteen years old, T’Challa is finally confident enough to start asking in depth questions, to persist to get his answers to things. 

“Because what if you kiss Y/N and you accidentally bite her lip? Or you just stare at her when she asks  _you_ to kiss  _her_ and you don’t know how? Or–”

T’Challa makes an ‘X’ across his chest and claps his hands over his ears. “Okay, okay!” Once he looks at her again, she’s wearing a satisfied expression. “Come here and let’s…” he gulped. “Kiss.”

“We really have to work on your confidence and delivery.” Nakia sighed. Though she did come closer, placing her hand on his as she scooted closer. His heart rate spiked. “Calm down, just breathe…” Her finger traced over his pulse until he eventually calmed. 

And then she leaned in. 

T’Challa mimicked her, eyes zeroing in on her face. Then they were kissing. It was just a peck really and ended too quickly. Nakia is staring at him, unimpressed. “…What?”

“Put your lips like this,” She demonstrated. “And right before you kiss me, close your eyes.”

“Why?” He’s confused.

“Because it’s romantic!” Nakia’s exasperated. “You want her to like kissing you, right? So follow my instructions and she’ll actually have good things to say instead of secretly wondering if she’s kissing a dead fish!”

Aghast, he reared back. “You’re so mean!”

“You suck at kissing right now.” Nakia stated, expression deadpan. “Have I ever led you astray?”

“Yes.” T’Challa replied bluntly. 

“Well, this time, I’m not!” Nakia promised, beckoning him closer. “Come on. Let’s try again.”

They spent an afternoon kissing, Nakia constantly correcting and criticising his technique until he got it right. And maybe he’s dizzy with exhilaration of getting it right because he initiates the next kiss, only this one feels different than all the others?

When he pulls back, she’s looking at him with a soft look and he’s seeing her, but it’s also like the first time he’s really seeing her, not just Nakia his best friend but as an actual girl who’s pretty. 

Someone coughs and the duo break apart, only to see Y/N looking at them with a bored expression. “Kissing in public is kind of embarrassing for other people.” 

“You didn’t have to look~” Nakia called after her. Y/N doesn’t pause in her stride, just waves her away. “Maybe we sho–”

And T’Challa is kissing her again.

* * *

He’s nineteen, almost twenty, when he becomes the Black Panther.

Nineteen, almost twenty, when his Baba tells him that it’s not just speed, strength, and stamina that comes from consuming the Heart Shaped Herb. T’Challa learns that an entity is sleeping inside him, a spiritual panther of sorts that will only awaken when he’s in grave and mortal danger or he meets the woman that will one day complete him; his mate.

“It is not all bad, T’Challa.” His Baba promises, when he sees his flummoxed expression. “You will, Bast willing, never awaken that power inside you and be able to live your life as you want. With who you want.” 

“So I don’t have any say about whether I be with this mystery woman?” T’Challa’s only getting more worked up, not calming down.

“Of course there’s a choice.” T’Chaka said simply. “It’s possible to be with other women, to settle and have a family. You  **are** a whole person without her, after all.”

“But?” T’Challa pressed.

“But there have never been any records where the Black Panther rejects his own mate. So I do not know what that would do to you.” T’Chaka admits reluctantly. T’Challa stares at him with frustrated tears building at the corners of his eyes. “It has not happened, so it might n–”

T’Challa does the one thing he has never done in his life. He interrupts his father and the King of Wakanda. “I have to be up early for my morning classes.” 

“…Of course, my son.” T’Chaka seemed to have aged right before him. “Good night, and sleep well.”

Literally fleeing the chamber, he calls Nakia on his kimoyo beads, needing to talk to her. Things have been a bit rocky between them, but hopefully she can just listen. 

He just needs somebody to listen.

~~Please, Bast, let her be willing to listen…–~~

* * *

He’s twenty-nine, almost thirty, when he loses his father. 

Chased down who he’d assumed was the killer, only Bucky Barnes is an innocent, at least of this crime, and he can’t justify leaving the man to be trialed and jailed for the countless other crimes he’d been brainwashed into committing. So, he shelters the famed Winter Soldier, not for Steve, but because he looks at Bucky and he sees a thousand ghosts in his too youthful face, sees that the soldier is almost broken but  _struggling so damn hard_ just to stand up straight and he needs  _just a little time to pull himself together_  before the world knocks him down again. 

And T’Challa understands that feeling all too well. 

The world outside of Wakanda is filled with chaos and greed and is disturbing, nearly bursting at the brim with monsters and egoistic men who think themselves clever with their schemes. His father had been right. 

No one outside of Wakanda can be trusted.

So, yes, he houses Barnes, for now, discreetly asking his little sister if there’s anything she can do, and feels his heart, already so battered, wanting to claw up through his throat when he sees the sheen of tears in her eyes, then he weeps in his heart because she smiles and maybe she thinks it’s supposed to be comforting but she looks ready to scream. T’Challa aches to hold her, chase away the bad dreams and monsters but he can’t because he is to be crowned King and the people need him, yet he hasn’t even properly laid his Baba to rest…!

It is beginning to feel as if the walls are closing in on him.

Mama knows him though, and perhaps this is her way of grieving, by micromanaging and avoiding the truth, but she sets him up with his own personal assistant. He doesn’t know who they are yet and fully expects to hate them on sight.

But when  _she_ walks through the door, T’Challa feels something shift inside him, that sleeping entity, and he has to grip his desk tightly to avoid standing up and walking over to her, claiming her lips in a kiss, because that would classify as sexual harassment and she’d be so furious–

Of course Bast would be so cruel to decree Y/N Y/L/N, daughter of Amina, as his mate.


	9. Don't Worry 'Bout Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone gets broken, everyone. Some grow stronger in those breaks. Others never recover.

You’re a daddy’s girl, always have been. 

He always sat you down on his knee and in a deep, melodic voice, told you stories about his people, the things that he’d seen. The places he’d been, the food he’d eaten and the cultures of others. 

“There’s no place like home though,” he remarked. “I’ll always come back to my favorite girls.” 

“Always, Baba? You have to pinky swear then!” 

Pinky swears were magic and couldn’t be broken. 

His chest rumbled with laughter, but obligingly, he twisted his pinky around yours. “Always.” 

Even though he’d promised, even though he’d pink sworn… One day, he just didn’t come home. 

“Najja was a good man, and I’m sorry, Amina–”

Flinching at the sound of something crashing and breaking, you watch from the stairs as your mother chased out Ebo, one of Baba’s friends. The door closed with a slam and she half sank to her knees, tears splashing down her cheeks. 

**~**

“We’re moving?” You puffed your cheeks out. “Why?”

“It’ll be a good change of scenery and you’ll make new friends.” 

Stomping your foot, you folded your hands underneath your armpits. “I don’t wanna! I don’t wanna! I don’t wanna!”

“Y/N.”

“I don’t wanna, I don’t wanna, I don’t wanna–”

“ **Y/N**!”

Very rarely did your mother shout at you. Or rather, not at all. For her to do it now frightened you and showed that things were changing already, and you didn’t like it. 

“Listen.” With gentle hands, she reached out and fixed your shirt. “I know it’s a big adjustment and I’m asking a lot, but we can’t stay here, Y/N.”

Eyelashes wet with tears, you looked at her, “But why?”

“We just can’t.” That’s all she said on the subject. “And, hey?” She cupped your cheeks. “I love you okay? More than anything else in the whole wide world, and I’m sorry for yelling. I won’t do that anymore.” 

“‘Kay…”

“Come on. We have a train to catch to go to the Golden City.” 

**~**

“I’m going to marry the prince when I get older.”

You glanced up from your book and your eyes darted to Bomani who snorted, hand clapping over his mouth. Then to Kisara who whirled around, glaring at the slightly older boy. “T’Challa? But he’s…”

“Handsome and brave and handsome?”

Bomani laughed again, unable and unwilling to stop the sound this time. “You said handsome twice!”

He got a pillow to the face. 

“Ignore this dumby. Who are  _you_ going to marry, Y/N?”

Returning to your book, you shrugged. “Myself, I guess.”

For your honest answer, you got a pillow to the face too.

Later on, she lectured you for two whole minutes without pausing to catch a breath, ending the lecture with a hug and a [pendant ](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.dhresource.com%2F0x0s%2Ff2-albu-g5-M01-3B-BB-rBVaI1gueEyAZbB3AAU1TvebFBo251.jpg%2Fmini-africa-map-pendant-necklace-women-girl.jpg&t=MmZiODg2OGEzYmIxNGFhOGZhMWE0ODQwYWUzZDY4ZWIzOGI4MzBiMSxFVkt0Mml2Qw%3D%3D&b=t%3APwauZoCL8-SYTxdcS3Xtdw&p=https%3A%2F%2Ftchalla-after-dark.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F176996190765%2Fdont-worry-bout-me&m=1)that matched hers, only yours is gold instead of silver. 

“We’re going to be friends for life, and our children will get married, then we’ll be sisters!”

“Okay…” You didn’t know how to tell her that with your self defense lessons from Haji taking up all your free time, you didn’t think dating anyone let alone marriage would be a priority. 

“Never take off my gift or that will tell me we can’t be friends anymore.” 

That was harsh. “I’ll wear it everyday.” 

**~**

“Do you even like me?” 

Although it’d exasperated your mother, or perhaps due to that fact entirely, you’d followed Bomani into the States, going to school for a semester or two. It still boggled your mind that people had to  _pay_ to attend college, whereas in Wakanda, there’s no such thing. 

Everything about the United States is frightening and scary and contradictory, and the only familiar thing around is your cousin, self exiled War Dog, Bomani. He’d become a bit of a stick in the mud too, repeatedly telling you who and who not to talk to or associate with. 

“I like you just fine, chère.” Remy glanced at you from underneath his bowler hat. “You’re interesting to talk to.” 

“Just interesting?” You reached out, bottom lip caught in your teeth, aiming to take his hat off, but he snagged your wrist. Pulse jumping, nevertheless, you didn’t try and break free. “It’s okay, Rem, we’re friends…remember?” He said nothing. “I just want you to be comfortable, it’s hot in this apartment, the A/C’s broken.” 

Remy’s hand let go of your wrist. “Personal space, chère.” He smiled that easy smile and after a second or two, he lifted his hat off himself, fully revealing his eyes to you. You stared at him for a second, taking in the red pupils and the black sclera. “Interesting indeed. Not gon’ run, sweet thing?”

“My cousin trusts you.”

“I still think he a fool for dat.” Remy interjected. 

“He trusts you and after…” You didn’t want to air Bomani’s business, didn’t know how much Remy had been told. “He’d left home, he doesn’t really… It’s hard for him to trust anyone.” 

“You mean when his daddy made him leave home because he a mutant that like to receive instead of pitch?”

Blinking slowly, you counted to ten. “Wow, you really specialize in being an asshole.” 

“T’anks, I try, chère.” He winked. “Besides, you like me anyway, whether I’m nice or not.” 

“All I’m saying is Uncle Dulani is a special case.” You say, trying to ignore the other half of his sentence and the way it affected you. “Bomani’s more than just my cousin, he’s like my brother that I would do anything for.” 

Remy watched you with his strange, hypnotizing eyes. “…I feel the same way.” He muttered. “Which is why…”

Brows furrowing, you cock your head to the side, “Which is why…?”

Then Remy leaned in and kissed you. You stayed still, frozen, as he leaned back a little. “I hope he forgive me. You’re just too cute to keep away from, chère.” And when he leaned in to kiss you again, this time you kissed him back, hand tangling in his hair. 

**~**

You stared at him, your king, more than a bit indignant. He was holding your pendant up in his hold, but Kisara had borrowed it…! To think that she would do such a thing as to spy on the king while he was bathing…? Yeah, you knew about her crush (obsession) with T’Challa and being queen, but to be married to such a lecherous, manipulative…

“If I kiss you, like you said, then we can forget this whole debacle and you’ll return my property?” 

He shrugged, mirth in his eyes. “If it’s a good kiss, certainly.” 

“Fine.” Pervert. 

All you planned to do is give him a peck,  _maybe_ some tongue action. What you hadn’t counted on is actually enjoying the feel of his lips, or to react at all beyond revulsion, but he smelled so good, and his hand on the nape of your neck, that triggered something inside you, and soon you were crawling in his lap, an action that surprised him…

Things just got out of hand from there. 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so amused at myself.


End file.
